


kiss me one more time

by raregoose



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, everyone appears but only laurent has an actual role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregoose/pseuds/raregoose
Summary: Adam likes kissing Brandon. The boys also like it when Adam kisses Brandon, but not for the same reason. It's funny, until it isn't.or:five first kisses that don't count, and one that does.





	kiss me one more time

**Author's Note:**

> so everyone is noticing the jets now because of adam and brandon kissing!! yay welcome to our fun, small-market, very affectionate team! i really couldn't NOT write this, and so here it is.
> 
> some thoughts: [Here's an explanation](https://www.nhl.com/jets/news/back-for-another-year-tanev-hungry-for-more/c-299572084) as to why Brandon's nickname is "Rusty". "Paulie" is Paul Stastny while "Paul" is coach Paul Maurice (that always gives me headaches when i write 17-18). the title comes from Carly Rae Jepsen's song The One. The bye week stuff is a little handwavy, but i can confirm that adam WAS hiking shirtless in Arizona, thanks for instagram stories. This fic is also sort of a little love letter to all the fun little jets moments over the past season-ish!

i.

Brandon doesn’t score all that often; granted, none of them on their line do, and they know their role. They’re happy to draw the toughest defensive matchups (and to win them) and leave the flashy plays to Mark, Blake, and whoever’s lucky enough to be on their left. 

So maybe Brandon’s just feeling it when Boston shows up and he pots one right away. He probably got laid or something, Adam figures, as they celly and fist bump the boys.

And then Brandon scores again, right at the start of the second. Andrew’s grinning and grabbing him as Adam skates up and congratulates him.

“The fuck are you drinking today, man?” he yells on the bench. Players like Adam and Brandon don’t score that often, let alone _twice_ in one game.

“Dunno!” Brandon laughs. Affection rushes through Adam’s body. “Just lucky, I guess!” Adam shakes his head a little and tries to get his head back in the game. Brandon laughing and smiling always gives him a funny little distracted rush of happiness. It’s whatever. No big deal. Everything makes Adam smile these days, what with the team doing as well as it is.

Okay, so Adam’s a pretty happy guy, but he’s smiling like a total idiot when Brandon pulls a smooth wraparound for the hat trick goal and cellies like it’s game seven of the Stanley Cup Final. He sails down the ice, fist-bumping the bench before he even thinks to hug Adam and Andrew. He spins and puts his hands up as Adam crashes into him, yelling, and for a split second Adam’s first instinct is to kiss him, right there on the ice in front of thousands of Winnipeggers.

It’s maybe not appropriate to have a gay epiphany about your winger right after he scored a hat trick and he’s pressing his face into your jersey, but here Adam is.

He knows he’s into dudes, so luckily the gay part of the epiphany isn’t so revolutionary, at the very least. Adam’s, well, Adam’s pretty good at hooking up. He’s tall and good looking (and his shoes are size eleven), and he’s bored and horny pretty much all the time, so his hookups range from Winnipeg models to manscaped guys at Florida bars who clearly don’t know anything about hockey. Adam’s just used to his winger being his wing _man_ , and not the one he’s working on wheeling.

So it’s weird, weird on the bench watching Brandon grin at the hats raining down, weird when they strip down in the locker and Adam moves mechanically, like he has to consider each motion before he does it. It’s weird when Brandon gets the player-of-the-game pilot helmet, and he turns to Adam during his player-of-the-game speech, and says, “couldn’t’ve done it without the big man right here,” slapping Adam on the shoulder.

Adam is stupid. Or maybe he’s a genius. Or maybe it’s just that he knows exactly what to do that’ll make the boys happy while simultaneously making himself miserable. Whatever you wanna call it, Adam’s a pro. It’s this energy that possesses him to say, “congrats buddy,” clap his hands around Brandon’s face, and stage kiss him, right there in front of the boys while they’re all half-undressed in the locker room.

Connor’s girlfriend showed him the trick, covering someone’s mouth with your thumbs so you don’t touch, but it looks pretty good. The boys love it, cat-calling and howling at them. Brandon pulls back and laughs in surprise.

“Okay, okay horndog,” he says, re-adjusting the pilot helmet. “Save it for tonight, eh? ‘Cause we’re gonna get smashed as hell boys let’s _go_!” The second half is addressed to the whole room, and everyone’s shouting again as Adam licks his lips and pretends it’s Brandon he tastes, and not his own thumbs.

He’ll do anything to get the boys going, and so will Brandon. It’s their job, after all.

ii.

They’re probably a little more drunk than Paul had hoped they’d be when he told them to go out and celebrate after the Nashville series, but it’s _Nashville_ and they _won_ and they’re headed to the _third round_ so most everyone is on their way to shitfaced. Paul doesn’t have to know. Paul doesn’t _want_ to know, anyway. Adam is not considering Paul, but rather Brandon, as he takes another shot at the bar.

Brandon’s a fucking firecracker. He’s taking shots of tequila, licking salt off a red-faced Joel’s hand and “woo”-ing about it. Adam knows that playoffs turn everyone a little wild, but he can’t help but feel like this recent, all-encompassing crush on his winger might be more of a long time coming than a playoff-induced craziness. He blames the long hours of ice time together, and the playful kiss and gay epiphany after the hat trick against Boston.

He keeps it to himself, mostly. He knows that Joel knows, because Joel knows everything in that quiet observant way of his. To everyone else, though, it’s just bros being bros. God knows their team has enough pairs attached at the hip for no one to bat an eye. So what if he crosses the floor to dance with Brandon, or if he takes a few more shots and they lean against each other in the corner? So what if he hauls Brandon into his lap in Bryan’s car with the excuse of fitting in more people?

They head to Connor’s for the afterparty; it’s the advantage of a huge house, no kids, and a cute dog. The basement’s only half finished but they sit in a huge circle and talk about whatever’s on their drunk minds. It’s normal, just regular team bonding, until Patrik pulls the empty beer bottle out of Nikolaj’s hand and spins it to the center of the circle, grinning.

For some reason they’re all drunk enough to be excited about the idea and Blake is shoved to the center among chants of “Cap” and “Sir”. Blake’s a little tipsy, nothing sloppy, and he gives the bottle a good flick of the wrist before sitting back on his heels and waiting. The bottle spins, then slows to a stop, the neck pointing directly at Dustin.

Dustin’s sober, and he rolls his eyes as Blake scoots across the circle, giggling and saying, “aw, Buff, c’mere you big softie!” Dustin holds Blake’s chin and pecks him chastely on the mouth.

“Can’t upset the wife, Wheels,” Dustin jokes.

Nikolaj kisses Paulie and Kyle kisses Connor and then they’re pushing Adam into the center of the circle. Adam’s palms are sweaty; he’s way too drunk for this. Brandon was next to him, almost directly behind him now that he’s the middle, and he figures it’s probably statistically unlikely for the bottle to point to someone next to him. That’s how probability works, right?

He flubs his spin at first, but gathers himself to do it properly. He sits back as it wobbles in a circle, slowing with every rotation. It creeps to a stop, pointing directly behind Adam. He turns in place to see who it’s pointing at. It turns out that Adam’s life is a bad teen movie, because it’s Brandon and he’s grinning and laughing.

Adam pushes back across the tiled floor to his original spot, sliding on his socks, until he bumps into Brandon. They’re giggling and red, everything feeling casual and easy under the haze of… however many shots they’ve done at this point.

“Gonna kiss me, Lows?” Brandon asks, snorting and putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Adam says lowly, unable to say anything witty. “Might.” He’s staring at Brandon’s lips. They’re wet and Brandon’s whole face is flushed red, and Jacob hollers, “kiss already!”

“Okay. Here I go.” Adam bends towards Brandon shyly, brushing their noses together. He can feel Brandon’s eyelashes flutter shut against his cheek. Adam inhales through his nose and doesn’t move for a second; he breathes in the intimacy of the moment, of Brandon’s breath on his cheek and hand creeping along the base of his neck. Adam closes the gap and kisses Brandon, taking his bottom lip between his own, reaching up to hold his neck, the dizziness both from the alcohol and the boy. 

The kiss continues longer than it should, longer than the others have. The boys are living for it, shouting and goading them on and chanting “more, more, more!”, so Adam does, running his tongue across Brandon’s bottom lip and shifting a little so he’s bending over him. Brandon’s not too small, but Adam’s taller than almost everyone. Brandon reacts by clutching Adam’s shirt, twisting his hand in it, and sucking Adam’s tongue into his mouth.

After a moment more, Adam remembers where he is and pulls off, gasping and falling back onto the tile. The boys eat it up, cheering for the performance and chirping them about it already.

Brandon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and adjusts his t-shirt. There’s something unsaid between them for a split second, a moment of eye contact where they’re both too slow to process, but then Ben is pushed into the circle and everything clicks back into place. Brandon doesn’t lean against him for the rest of the night, and Adam runs his tongue over his bottom lip, trying to memorize the taste and feel before it slips away.

iii.

Finland _sucks_. Joel is gone, so Adam has no one to follow around when he can’t read the signs, and he also cannot for the life of him adjust to the time change. He spends the whole week tripping over his own skates and just trying to get through the day without sleeping when he shouldn't. He hangs out mostly with Andrew, Brandon, and Laurent, the new guy a consolation at least in losing Joel to Montreal. They wander around Helsinki aimlessly, pointing at menu items and trying to be polite using the four words of Finnish Patrik tried to teach them before giving up.

They go out their last night to a wings place, the chicken delicious and the alcohol plentiful. Brandon is just barely buzzed beside him, and Adam is on his way, and he's stuffing his face with an extreme amount of chicken, since they've got another week off once they get back and no one can tell him he doesn't deserve it.

Patrik abandons them after dinner to go hang out with Barkov, leaving them to their own devices surrounded by the foreign language when _someone_ (Connor) suggests bar-hopping and karaoke until they pass out or get laid. Adam likes bars; he likes dancing and drinking and hooking up. 

Adam likes it when Brandon comes up alongside him and finds his way under Adam’s arm. It makes everything scary and not easy like it should be, but there’s something exhilarating about it, like defensive faceoffs during the PK. It should mean nothing to do shots of Finnish liquor with names he can’t pronounce, but Brandon is leaning into him and suddenly Adam’s senses are heightened, his hands sweating.

They stumble into karaoke and take turns slurring their way through songs. Blake and Bryan duet on something really old, which is halfway tragic and halfway hilarious. Then Nikolaj gets cocky and picks a Finnish song, saying “I can totally do this, _please_ ,” and has them in tears of laughter after one verse of slurred and butchered Finnish words.

“You two next, go,” Mathieu says once Nikolaj gets down, pushing Adam and Brandon up from where they’re sitting leaned against each other.

“Um. No.” Adam adjusts his hat and tries to sit back down. 

Brandon looks over his shoulder at him. “C’mon, grow a pair. Sing with me, Lows.”

Brandon flutters his eyelashes and Adam might black out a second, because he finds himself up on the stage, bending over a microphone that he and Brandon are sharing, Brandon’s sweaty hand on top of his.

Mark’s choosing the song for them, even though Adam’s pretty sure that the team has some sort of rule that Mark’s not allowed to make any important decisions anymore. He recognizes the melody when it starts, but he can’t put a finger on it until—

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Scheifs!” he yells, because it’s “Kiss the Girl” from _The Little Mermaid_ , and the rest of the boys are cackling about it. He’s never been able to escape jokes about his little habit of kissing Brandon, and the cruel irony is that it is far less frequent of an occurrence than he wishes.

“There’s something about her,” Brandon is singing, amused but not deterred by the cat-calling. “And you don’t know why, but you’re dyin’ to try, you wanna kiss the girl.” He chuckles and tilts the microphone at Adam.

Adam’s red and the room is swaying a little. He takes the microphone and sings the next part, “yes, you want her, look at her, you know you do, possible she want you too, there’s one way to ask her.”

Adam throws his arm around Brandon and they sway, singing the chorus together. It’s too easy to let go and lean into it, the warm haze of alcohol and Brandon fitting snugly under his arm. It’s definitely too easy to chuck the microphone at Mark when the song ends, scoop Brandon into his arms, dip him, and kiss him on his lips. 

He’s got one hand on Brandon’s waist and one supporting his neck, and they’re bent half to the ground like the end of a rom-com, Adam’s hat getting pushed back by Brandon’s forehead as they kiss. It’s messy and drunk, tongues and lips sloppy, but Adam just wants to taste him, to be up in his space, their faces and chests pressed together. He kisses him hungrily and Brandon holds his face like he’ll fall if he doesn’t, and they kiss until the boys stop cheering and chanting for more.

Adam rights himself and pulls Brandon up too. He fixes his hat. “Happy?” he calls out to the gang, throwing his arms out. Everyone laughs, and Brandon grabs his arm to pull him off the stage back to their seats.

Adam’s mouth tastes like weird Finnish vodka and something distinctly cherry. He rubs his lips in it, trying to place it.

“It’s my chapstick,” Brandon whispers in his ear.

Adam’s ears pinken.

iv.

The boys enter the new year on the team plane, waiting for it to take off and leave Edmonton. The minutes tick down as they get settled into their seats, everyone rough-housing a little, excited from the big win.

Adam sits with Laurent now that Joel’s gone; he has that same calm demeanor and quiet observance of everything happening with the team. “Happy new year, LB,” he tells him as he sits.

“Happy new year, Lows.” Laurent pats him on the back and yawns. “Another crazy one in the books.”

“I have a feeling this one’s not gonna be any more calm.” They’re poised for another run, one with the edge of disappointment from the previous year. They’re angrier, hungrier.

“I’m just along for the ride,” Laurent says, stretching out his arms and spreading his fingers like a lounging cat. Nothing seems to bother Laurent, but maybe that’s just the life of a backup goalie. They’re strange creatures, patient and not angry about waiting their turn. Adam couldn’t do it; he’s always trying to get one more, whether it be a shift or a faceoff or a block.

“Hm, that reminds me,” Adam says, changing the subject. “Are you down for Scottsdale over bye week?” His family has a house down there they let him use whenever, so he’s just inviting any of the guys who are interested, the ones that don’t already have other plans.

“Yeah sure, as long as I don’t make the All Star Game,” Laurent jokes.

Adam laughs. “Yeah, okay. I’m pretty sure if they don’t take Blake, Mark’s gonna suplex Gary Bettman.” Centers have to stand up for their wingers, it’s just the natural order of things.

“And if they don’t take Mark, Blake will do the same,” Brandon chimes in from across the aisle. He’s sitting with Nikolaj, across from Mathieu and Patrik. Mathieu’s on the phone with his kids, and Patrik and Nikolaj are tossing playing cards at one another.

Laurent laughs and rolls his eyes. “Forwards are so fucking romantic, I swear to God.”

“Aw, do you need Helle to give you a new year’s kiss?” Adam chirps. As he says it, he tosses a glance back at Brandon, who’s grinning and leaning toward them, away from whatever Nikolaj and Patrik are doing behind him.

Andrew’s head pops up from a row behind them. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Lows and Rusty have the market cornered on team kissing.”

And it’s just Adam’s luck, because further back in the plane, a couple of guys start a countdown, yelling as the clock ticks down into 2019. They join in, looking at their phones with the time flashing 11:59, shouting out “3, 2, 1, 0!” and cheering when the clocks flip to 12:00.

Adam looks back at Brandon, and Brandon’s looking over at him. Patrik and Nikolaj are practically wrestling behind him, and Mathieu is cooing French over the phone to his wife.

“Happy new year, Lows,” Brandon says, grinning.

“Happy new year, Rusty.” He puts his hands out as if to say, _fuck it, why not_ , and they lean across the aisle toward each other for a chaste new year’s kiss, much to the delight of the rest of the boys, who cheer and yell for them.

Brandon’s cheeks are stubbly between Adam’s hands and his lips are soft. They break apart, laughing; Adam grins like it doesn’t matter to him, like it’s as much of a joke to him as it is to the rest of the boys.

He likes making the boys happy, whether it be a blocked shot or a little joke that’s probably gone on too far at this point. But it’s his own damn fault, and there’s still the part of him that gets a rush every time, Brandon’s mouth against his own, the brief moment where he can pretend his crush is reciprocated and not hopeless.

“Forwards, man,” Laurent says softly, smiling to himself and leaning back in his seat, getting ready for takeoff.

v.

Skip the Dishes is a godsend, in a lot of ways. Adam can’t cook and isn’t really too interested in learning, and the sponsorship deal is an added bonus. He just posts their ads on Instagram when they tell them to and takes the chirps from the guys, because he’s getting free food out of it, so he’ll pretty much do whatever.

Telling the Skip the Dishes media people that, though, ends up with him spending an off day with Brandon filming an ad. It’s straightforward enough; the general concept is blindfold taste-testing. Adam’s palate isn’t the most refined. He pretty much subsists off grilled chicken while refusing to try any of the strangely colored juices that Mark swears by.

It’s fun to chirp and joke around on camera anyway, Adam pushing back at everything Brandon says. “Just be yourselves,” the woman organizing the whole thing tells them. “We can bleep you if we need to. We want it to be casual, to give the fans a taste of your personalities.”

Adam admits to being a picky eater, threatens to ask Paul to move Brandon off his line, and boomerangs sweet potato tempura off his fork all within the span of a little under an hour of filming. In his quest to be the biggest human disaster on the planet, he finishes the filming off with the double-pronged flair of saying “you suck failure, freak” to Brandon and then, immediately afterward, stage kissing him in front of six cameras and forty people.

They both laugh, since it’s a joke with the boys, and they’ll get a kick out of it, but they have a few dozen confused media managers all sending emails at the speed of light after it happens. But they sign off on it and leave the shoot laughing like it’s no big deal.

Brandon chuckles and puts his face in his hands as Adam drives him home. “Frenchy’s gonna be jealous,” he says, referencing the only member of their line who hasn’t participated in the Winnipeg Jets kissing habit.

“Sucks for him.” Adam pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “He can cry to his wife about it.”

He blows a bubble with the gum, snaps it, and sneaks a glance over at Brandon while they sit at the traffic light. Brandon’s looking at him with his head tilted like he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words.

Adam looks back at the road and keeps chewing his gum. It’s cherry, and he sucks on it, savoring the taste.

+

Scottsdale is hot, a welcome change from the freezing temperatures of Winnipeg. They spend the whole first day of the bye week just lounging by the pool. It’s him, Brandon, Joe, and Laurent, all soaking up the sun and appreciating the break to mend the bumps and bruises from the first half.

They go out for dinner, Adam’s favorite local taco joint, before spending the rest of the night watching TV and drinking beers. Joe turns in first, and the other three follow closely behind, not wanting to be tired while golfing the next day. Adam, Brandon, and Laurent brush their teeth side-by-side, all packed into the same bathroom. Adam could technically use the master bathroom, but it’s always better to be with the guys, just like they’re on a roadie and scheming to drag all of Mason’s furniture into the hallway.

They split once they’re all done, Brandon and Laurent headed down the hallway and Adam the other way, toward the master bedroom. As he follows Brandon down the hall, Laurent looks over his shoulder to Adam, confusion passing over his face. Adam doesn’t think much of it; he’s tired, and he turns into the master and falls asleep as soon as he touches the sheets, not worrying about anything at all.

It’s hot again the next day, and they head out to the golf course, posting as much to social media as they can and snapping the other guys to compare vacations. Adam and Laurent are a bit ahead of Brandon and Joe, riding in the cart toward the green, sun shining down on the miles of the course.

“Can I ask you something?” Laurent says. He’s driving, not looking over at Adam, but Adam feels weird about it anyway; no one can focus like a goalie, and that focus is pointed straight at him.

“Yeah?”

“What’s up with you and Rusty?” The golf cart drives over a rock. Adam nearly falls out.

“What do you mean?” His palms sweat.

Laurent does look at him then, pinching the corners of his mouth like he’s worried about Adam. “You know,” he says emphatically. “Like, are you guys alright?”

Adam considers flinging himself out of the cart on purpose at this point. He looks at the ground; the asphalt doesn’t seem too hard, and they’re not going too fast. He’d be able to explain it to Paul, right? _Hey coach, sorry I snapped my arm like a pretzel over bye week, it’s just that LB was trying to grill me about the linemate that I’m hopelessly in love with. My bad!_

“Yes?” he says, unconvincingly. “What do you mean? Rusty’s my boy.” He laughs emptily.

Laurent squints at him. The golf cart slows as they reach the green, and as they walk over to Adam’s ball, Laurent says, “well, okay, just checking. Just with last night, you know. I don’t wanna, like, interrogate you about your sex life—”

Adam steps on his own golf ball and nearly faceplants on the green. “My _what_?!” he chokes.

Laurent clenches his teeth. “Oh. Sorry. Did you guys break up?”

Adam is in _orbit_. “Did we _what_?!” he says. His golf ball has evacuated the premises after being stepped on, fully rolling off the green into a neighboring sand trap.

“You and Rusty?” Laurent asks, his voice becoming less sure as Adam’s face grows redder. “Were—are—you guys _not_ together?”

“No, definitely not,” Adam says, but he can start to see where the confusion is coming from, considering that Laurent is a new addition to the team and he missed the start of the kissing saga the previous season, against Boston and after the Nashville series. “The kissing is just, like, a team inside joke?” He realizes how absurd it sounds as it comes out of his mouth.

“You kiss Rusty… as a joke? Like, even the time in Finland?”

Adam’s memory of the Finland karaoke kiss is, admittedly, foggy. He remembers the cherry chapstick, and Brandon’s hand on his face.

“...yes?”

“All the times you’ve kissed Rusty,” Laurent says, holding his hand out, “have been totally and completely just bros being bros? Like, utterly no homo?”

“Well, I mean, not no _homo_ ,” Adam replies. “I also like girls.”

“Wait, so you _do_ like Rusty?” 

“Ah, fuck.” Adam turns around and walks off the green, hopping into the sand trap to dig for his ball. “Okay, so it’s a little of both,” Adam says, wrist deep in sand. “The kissing _is_ just a joke, but I maybe also have a tiny, _teeny-tiny_ , crush on him.” He pulls the ball out and returns to the green.

“And have you ever considered that if he willingly kisses you so often, maybe it means that he has a little bit of a crush on you too?” Laurent raises his eyebrows. Adam pauses. He had not considered that.

“I. Hm.” Adam puts down his ball. He’s not someone who is lost for words often.

“Hey man, I’m just saying, think about it.” Laurent puts his hands out, palms up. “You shouldn’t suffer because of something you’ve convinced yourself of. Try letting yourself be happy sometime.”

Adam looks up at the sun. Making a team joke out of kissing Brandon was selfish enough. Adam’s not used to doing things for himself; he’s a depth guy, and he does what he has to do for the team.

They go hiking the next day. It’s even hotter than the previous two days, somehow. Adam strips off his shirt after an hour, and he’s not above glancing over to see if Brandon’s checking him out. Brandon does give him a once over as he hikes up the slope behind him. 

Adam thinks about it. He really thinks about it. They hike mostly in silence, everyone breathing hard, and he wonders if he’s brave enough, or bold enough, or _stupid_ enough. Why change something when it works so well? Why open himself to being hurt when he can just be quiet?

“Lows?” Brandon’s voice pulls him out of his tortured self-reflection.

“Huh?” He turns around. Brandon’s sitting on the ground.

“Can I have the water?” he asks, gesturing at the bottle Adam’s carrying. “I gotta re-tie my shoe, might as well get a drink, too.”

Adam nods, tossing the bottle down to him and plopping down beside him, figuring he might as well take a break too. He breathes heavily, recovering as Brandon drinks from the water bottle and ties his shoe.

They sit for a long minute underneath the hot sun, the water bottle on the ground and Brandon’s shoes tied but neither really wanting to get up again. The other two are long gone, having hiked on while Adam and Brandon took a break. It’s just the two of them and the wide open landscape below.

“Adam?” Brandon says. 

“Yeah?”

“You know, like, all those times we kiss as a joke?”

Fuck, they’re really doing this now?

“Yeah, what about it?” And that’s a little more aggressive than he means for it to be, but he’s nervous.

“I dunno. I just feel like, maybe we should stop.” Brandon shrugs.

“Oh.” Adam tries to not sound so disappointed. “Okay.”

“Fuck,” Brandon mutters. “I meant! I think we should stop with the _joke_.” Adam tilts his head at him.

“How’s that any different,” Adam says flatly. His heart is broken and this is just salt in the wound.

“Because,” Brandon says, dragging it out, “I, um, kinda like kissing you. Like, a lot. And I don’t think it’s funny to me anymore.”

“Oh.” Adam’s heart squeezes with affection. Brandon’s sitting in front of him, eyes dark and hopeful and framed by his thick eyelashes, telling him he feels the same way. It feels like a shorty, or a series win, or maybe it even feels like something hockey can’t explain. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“Cool.” Brandon’s grinning. “Now can I kiss you? For real this time?”

“C’mere.”

They lean together and kiss, and it’s perfect. It’s practiced and easy, Brandon’s hands exploring Adam’s bare chest and Adam cupping his cheeks. There’s no one around, no one to goad them on or to cat-call them. It’s just them and the Arizona sky, silent and beautiful.

Brandon tastes like cherry chapstick.

They pull apart, and Adam sees stars. “That was nice,” he says, underselling how much his hands are shaking and how fast his heart is beating.

“We should do that more often.” Brandon’s nodding, and running his tongue along his bottom lip.

“Well, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s nothing stopping us from kissing again, right now,” Adam says, grinning. 

“I like the way you think.”

Brandon kisses him again. The sun feels like summer, and Brandon tastes like cherry, and what anyone else thinks doesn’t even cross Adam’s mind. He’s happy; in the moment, nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! come talk to me about jets boys on tumblr and twitter @ raregoose !! i love the jets and im so glad people are noticing them more lately :)


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